We went from job. About houses on a stone white cold light of growing dark day laid. And the sun was low; it early left for brick pipes kochegarok, these menacing fingers of the earth. The silent sleepy autumn began. The wind blew less often and was not so is rigid, as in the heated aching summer. The sky has turned white and it became closer and clearer, as if has looked down to the person. Each lived autumn I remembered since the childhood, and always it was same, as now. The white sky, the white earth, empty unvoiced open space endlessly and coldly. On a roadway carts rattle and dray on them sleep, only the forward dozes and looks and waves uselessly knutovishchem. We have reached a large village where lived, and have seen a field. There was nobody, and wood was not for seven versts, and is direct against us. It stood and looked on zhnive, at a stone city and on us. Away from wood on sandy obdutom a barrow there was any person and as if peered at a far city. It stood and did not move. Perhaps, it was the stick or forgotten isklevannoe carrion crows a stuffed animal on bahchah. And I thought and knew, that there the person. Old Volchek has met us and was delighted. Clever not animal eyes caressed and liked. I as was born, remembered it. Volchek well felt it and on my voice responded shout not like a dog. My companion Safronov has gone to the lane. He knew and saw the same, as I. To both of us has bothered to rise on hooter, and we were going to to run to Don in bushes to live fishermen. I would like to leave in shepherds more, but also the fisherman to be good, and I have agreed. For the time being we were silent and concealed in myself this unique our pleasure.
-- Eh, well, - I spoke.
-- Well, - Safronov responded.
-- Good, shtol?
-- Good. And on that we finished. The workshop pressed and ate our souls. People there became the malicious. Integral day we dragged a stretcher with shavings and dust, and that idled, left in a grass on a back court yard and were not afraid of anybody: all forever we will leave soon from here.
-- Eh, Serega, Serega... - to what I spoke from melancholy and silent pleasure of fast rescue.
-- Yes, Andryukhas, will be to us zhist and do not affect..., to twist, shto as business has turned around... Serega Safronov was clever and judicious, as the big muzhik. It was from village, and I city. In all people he saw masters in foremen, and I - do not know whom, only was afraid of them. And we have converged smothering in soul, without it I would be gone, and can be, and it without me. Have not learnt, and we have scented it both have grown fond each other and were blinded, as two puppies on an ice floe. Safronov has left and has not looked back. I have stood, have stood, have looked, as darkens and tihnet everything, vanish weeding, and have gone home. Houses I have lighted a lamp and took the liked book. Listnul it also has read: in village for rekoju the spark has gone out - Mother slept. Volchek barked on a court yard and dying flies buzzed under a ceiling. I have seen summer and the big white blinding river in dark blue beams. On sand, on that to a side, the straw village falls asleep and dogs, and anywhere - anybody tell lies. In the dark sky therefrom someone's late fire from a window only looks. Should, lampadka. The midges over a head, itch and more more silently. Fire as if it both was not goes out. Also you will not find eyes where there was a village. The midges were delighted and has hooted - and at once were gone. One remained komarik and it rings as for two versts, and on a nose. Small and live. I am small also one, silently and darkly. But at once someone can seem, strike, ring out and all to shine. Also you will see not that another is visible in the afternoon, and, and someone will look therefrom at you, will smile and will disappear. And there will be same meadows, fields, straw, village and wattle fences in the morning. And the sun creeps and scratches arable lands. And I will see, that here was born, and I will not go anywhere. Volchek ached at senets. The wind jumped aside in shutters. Flies have become silent on a ceiling, mother has woken up and looked at me. I have dozed off on a table and have seen a happy dream, and have forgotten it in the morning and could not tell. For other day we with Seregoj to work have gone. And have gone in the field, where far away. There we have lain down in a sandy broad gull and began to think everyone about the. The sun hardly climbed on top, tore out last grass from the earth and spread on the cool white sky. Now children drag there a stretcher. Long still see you in the evening, I have thought, and to me it became bad on a shower.
-- Earrings, and Earrings? - I have called.
-- Well - shto?
-- In village for rekoju the spark has gone out...
-- Igde?
-- In the evening on that to a side in village...
-- Nuk shtozh. We laid on the earth, as on a warm palm. Sand and for a neck ponalezli ants was showered. Soared as if in the spring. We have understood, that we lay directly against the sky and that we are live. I have nestled on the earth and have scented, as I treat together with it and I like. Sand has ceased to be poured, and the wind has absolutely abated. I have waved rukoju - it was necessary nothing me. Serega changed the shoes and listened... I have seized for a grass and was frightened. To me it was thought, that I fall, and I have stood and have nestled. Sand was hot and strong, and I have departed.
-- Here after all the earth not such as at us, - I have told Serege silently that he has learnt nothing.
-- Here not the earth, and sand. On road the dust has twirled a column.
-- Have gone shtol?
-- Let's go. We have got under way to a city. The wind quilted sand and howled in standing dry sticks from sunflowers. And whence it undertook? Was nothing...
-- Serezh, Serezha... When to Don we will disappear? In village for rekoju the spark has gone out...
-- Wait. It is necessary to take all children from a workshop. What they? All then already also we will get under way therefrom, be gone it propadom.
-- And they will go with us?
-- Yes obespeka, and that as...
-- Well, we will go, too them it is a pity to me. We one shto!. Muzhiks from a market Towards went, familiar children prokatyvalis behind, and have then stuck to us.
-- You know shto, Serezh? We will go to us home, I to you will read the book, there collapsible verses.
Oxen
For krindachevskimi mines there is a rich village, not a village, and grain kolodez. And under old Cossack steppes on which left once with sons Taras Potatoes in Zaporozhye Sech, earth fat - hard dense coal, stone force lays already thousand centuries. Lays and polezhivaet. Above in white mud huts there live descendants zaporozhtsev and already forget about the Turkish sultan, only razveshany in rooms curve old sabres and on a sheath the ancient silver pattern darkens. Old men still remember ancient abstruse songs of a campaign with whistle about Turkish evil spirits and about shljaha. And, when from Moscow there were Bolsheviks they prophesied that Turks on the other hand have turned back and again go on Orthodoxy. Old men ordered to sit down on horses of all youth and as doprezh, to defend sacred belief, wives and all silent Divine people. - we will lay down everything, sonnies, for the Divine cross on our steppes, - spoke on descents moustached grandfathers. But forty-year sonnies kept mum and in languor looked after a village in growing dark open spaces. They knew, that such war, and a cross did not feel how fathers, they would like sheep and an oxen, the stone house, uhvatlivuju the mistress more. And though the sin in church not to go, but also to live in poverty and ruin, to quilt on a game on steppe - not model. To come off a liked court yard, an economy, from a native village, to throw the wife and everything, than you live and that you like, - does not lay to that smothering, that speak old men. From mines on holidays come katsapy to kazachek; were not christened at a temple and threatened spjana to shopkeepers with Bolsheviks. Black and another's, they wandered till the morning on a village.
Throw, Vanka, vodka to drink. We will go on job. Money we will receive every Saturday.
Denikin, sgreb bread and an oxen has come, has hung up three miners and has merged to Moscow. Has grown dull smothering and at old Cossacks. Even more silently and ljubimej there were court yard and barns, and at wives to shout became more rare.
-- Where there, truth Bozhija? The nobility, and at those who with a cross, it is not present. And from a cross the mug looks Antichrist's... Have ceased to go katsapy from mine, were gone, as one.
-- Let and not vertajutsja, bisovy children, from them a borsch sour, beggars lapotnye. - So old women told lies. Cossacks grinned: the God has not given to a toad of a tail, that grasses not tolochila. And mind woman's, that a tail zhaby. The wind carried by back generals, have taken away all oxen, have left only to whom pair to whom two and were gone to Black Sea Coast. propylili slowly last time a native oxen also was gone for ever. Much cunningly with generals of youth and old men. Remained only with whom has grown dull smothering and who has lost the ends of the habitual truth or has regretted steppe and an economy. Bolsheviks have come. To grandfather Anton Karpychu without demand and without conversation the young cheerful person in a leather cap has become hollow in a hut and a forehead has not crossed.
-- Fine, stanichnik!
-- Be healthy.
-- Far white?
-- And hto them pursued?
-- To smoke it is possible?
-- Your will.
-- So. And you do not take offence, olden time, I will smoke and I will leave. We will not touch, not to you have come, live to myself. Has sat, the cheerful leather cap has sat, has laughed and has gone.
-- Farewell.
-- Good luck, the sonny! - the old man also has become cheerful: people and they. Under evening as Bolsheviks have started to act in film, has taken out fat a chunk and has given to any red star.
-- Thanks, the father! We will see still.
-- And how? Yes here an oxen have reduced, plesh them bashke, wheat too posvezli.
-- Anything, anything, we will work still, we will acquire. Now business it seem to know better. All it is bad, we will endure. The old man has come into a heap of soldiers, looked round and listened.
-- So not to wait for them?
-- As hosh though wait, yes you will not wait.
-- And you not Turkish will be breeds? The Cross carry?
-- Cross to burn it is necessary, on him the Christ have crucified. And breeds all of us of one. They a cross all bear it, and we to remove a cross from the back hochem that was easier.
-- So-so... - the Old man has understood all words and has gone home to consider. Bolsheviks have left also. Neighbour Rodionycha still had untouched two steams of an oxen. It came every evening to Anton Karpychu both rejoiced, and cursed.
-- And? After all the owner still I, Karpych, and? How you will tell? Mozhe, the front Nikoly is not turned back. Both steppe and an oxen - ours, both huts are whole, and bread till the summer we will pull... And crosses from churches not posshibali, nonsense one was. Karpych thought and thought, where a true demon, where pechatano its brand? Whether there, where its oxen? Whether a cross the press besova... It is not possible to pray in any way to on what have tortured the Christ how it nobody has learnt? He has recollected cheerful hloptsa in a leather cap. Not a demon it, and a brand on him heavenly - a star. Karpych has fallen asleep and has dreamt, as if on steppe its oxen home from Black Sea Coast silently goes.
